


Les Amis de l'Stonewall

by Avourellion



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Cosette and Eponine are sisters, Courf and Ferre are the group therapists, Enj can't talk about his feelings, Enjolras and Grantaire have to take care of each other, Enjolras is Erik, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grantaire is Raoul, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Javert and Valjean are university professors, LGBT Pride, M/M, Manhattan, Mutual Pining, New York City, Stonewall, Stonewall Riots, everyone is part of a theatre club, guess which two idiots get themself arrested, historical fiction - Freeform, semi-modern au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avourellion/pseuds/Avourellion
Summary: The date? June, 1969The location? Manhattan, New YorkThe cast? A group of French theatre students studying abroad.What could possibly go wrong? As it turns out, a lot. They were supposed to be visiting and performing on Broadway, but when their theatre club is a hidden magnet for closeted queers and tensions are rising in the community, it's almost impossible for them not to get caught up in the Stonewall riots. As one might suspect, it's Grantaire's fault.
Relationships: Bahorel/Feuilly, Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Keeping Watch In The Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be co-written by me and LunaWolf1101 but I think I've fucked up on the adding a co-author thing and ??? oops? Please tell me what I've done wrong.
> 
> I'm probably going to be the main author here but she'll definitely be helping a lot too. Go check out her stories, she's pretty good!
> 
> We'll try to keep this as historically accurate as possible, but I can't promise everything will be right. If you notice something major that's bothering you, go ahead and point it out so that I can change it. Obviously, a couple of the characters ((*cough* Grantaire *cough*)) are a bit more open about their sexuality and stuff, but the entire point of this is the group of them at the Stonewall riots, which were basically the start of the LGBT rights movement. So, all of our main ships are going to become 'canon', at least within the universe of this fic, by the end. But let's be honest, e/R and Joly/Bossuet/Chetta are pretty much both canon in the brick.
> 
> Basically, everything I just said translates to 'this fic is a self-indulgent way for me to shove all of my ships together' because that's kinda the whole point of fanfiction. That, and denying canon, which we're also doing here.
> 
> We live for comments. TALK TO US.
> 
> Love,  
> -Av

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought I’d pass up the opportunity to write hyperactive, anxious Enjy, you’re wrong XD

It was a long and painful process to get international travel papers approved for a group of over twenty students. One would think they'd just apply for the papers and fill out the forms, but no. Of course, it had to be more complicated than that. The stress of worrying about not having papers, on top of having to plan the entire trip from France to America mostly on his own, was driving Enjolras crazy.

"The trip is only one week away, and 'Chetta still says she doesn't know if she'll be able to make it." He fell backward and landed on the threadbare couch. It was the only piece of furniture in the office that wasn't covered in boxes and supplies.

Combeferre ripped a piece of packing tape off the roll and sealed one of the boxes shut. "Relax. You've planned this trip perfectly. Just assume she's coming."

Enjolras made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled scream. "How are you so calm? We're flying to America in a week and we haven't even gotten our papers approved!"

A piece of balled-up tape hit him in the side of his face. He rolled onto his stomach, picked the tape off the floor, and hurled it back at Combeferre.

His friend sighed. "I know it's tough, but have a bit of patience. They should arrive in a few days, then we'll all be set to go." He labeled the box in marker with neat, small handwriting. It was the final one containing the costumes for their play.

“Easy to say, not to do,” Enjolras hopped up from the couch and paced around the room, only to flop back down. 

“Have you remembered to take your anxiety meds today?”

“I’m not stupid, ‘Ferre, of course I remembered,” he snapped, then regretted it instantly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be harsh.”

“I know you didn’t.” Combeferre held up a clipboard. “Do you want to help make sure all the boxes are here?”

“Sure. Help me move them all together so we can sort them.” He stood and picked up one of the boxes. They began to stack them all against one wall, so that they could move them to the opposite side of the room without counting them twice. 

“Read them off to me?” Enjolras asked once that task was done.

Together, the two of them started working their way down the list. Combeferre would tell him what to look for, and he’d search around in the wall of boxes for each one. 

Their theatre group’s supply boxes were mainly made up of the various costumes, seeing as all of the ones performing had multiple different outfits. There were also the specialized props and set pieces that they wouldn’t have access to in America.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’ll actually be _performing_ on Broadway,” Combeferre said. “And we’ll be visiting the West End on the return trip.” He lowered his voice as though sharing a secret. “I’ve actually never been out of the country before. Grantaire’s emergency set repair supplies and painting set?”

Enjolras moved the box over to the other side of the room and Combeferre crossed it off. “It’s not as exciting as people make it out to be. It’s just like going anywhere else.”

“‘Sette’s dresses. What about you?”

“Found them. I went to Rome last year with Grantaire. We did all the tourist stuff and spent hours in art museums. The Forum was incredible.”

“See, you’re a liar. It _is_ exciting to go somewhere new.” Combeferre pushed his glasses up his nose. “Why haven’t I heard about this trip before? Your costumes.”

That box ended up at the very bottom of the pile, and Enjolras had to lift the ones on top of it so that Combeferre could slide it out from underneath.

“Maybe because he blackmailed me into going on the trip with him.” Enjolras dropped the box onto the opposite pile. “Well, more like agreed to let me help him into therapy. I’ve been trying to help him get out of his addictions for years. He said he’d work on it, get professional help. If I went with him to Rome, I mean. So of course I went.”

“Are you sure that’s the only reason you went with him?”

Enjolras threw his hands up. “He’s my friend, and Rome is a beautiful place! I actually _did_ enjoy it, though if you ask Grantaire he’d say I spent the entire time ranting about how screwed up their military dictatorship system was.” He raked a hand through his hair. He hadn’t gotten around to combing it for several days, and it was a tangled mess. “He wouldn’t be wrong.”

They were nearing the end of the list, and Enjolras didn’t bother moving the last couple of boxes. It was easier to leave them where they were.

“Stage makeup, another box of costumes, and the scripts, though I sincerely hope we don’t need them,” Combeferre said, crossing the final items off the list. “So?”

“So what?”

“So did Grantaire end up getting help?”

Enjolras sighed. “For a while, yeah. He was doing really well. He managed to keep his drinking to a reasonable level. He managed to spread out a single bottle over several days, and he stopped smoking entirely. Then… hell, I don’t even know what happened. He showed up to class absolutely hammered one day, and that was the end of it. Something threw him back into his old habits, but he refuses to speak about it. I can’t convince him to go back into rehab either.”

“Another trip to Rome?” Combeferre suggested, but the joking tone fell flat. The nervous and excited atmosphere had turned solemn.

“I’m so worried about him, ‘Ferre,” Enjolras said, sitting down on one of the boxes and burying his face in his hands. “You’ve heard Joly’s rants before, you know how bad it is. Grantaire’s killing himself, and I wish I could help him, but he won’t let me. He’s my best friend and I love him. His art and his music, his passion for philosophy and history. I love him but he won’t let me help.”

His words were far truer than he wanted to admit. _He’s my best friend and I love him._ And Enjolras did love him, as far more than a friend or a brother. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way, he knew it was wrong, but god help him, he was absolutely and positively in love with Grantaire.

“Hey.” He felt Combeferre squeeze his shoulder, shaking him out of his thoughts. The box sagged as his friend sat down next to him. “Enj, you need to stop blaming yourself. You’ve tried. You’ve tried so hard, but at the end of the day, Grantaire’s choices are his own, and none of it is your fault. You try to carry the burdens of the world on your shoulders. We can all see everything you’ve put into this trip. I know now how much you’ve done for Grantaire, and when it fails, I see you hating yourself for something out of your control. You’re damaging yourself as much as he is, and it won’t help either of you.”

Enjolras sucked in a deep, shaking breath. “Yeah. But it still feels like I failed him.”

He didn’t often speak about his feelings as openly as this. He certainly wouldn’t have done so around anyone besides Combeferre, but even if he didn’t believe his friend’s words, they still made him feel better.

“Well. Thanks, I guess,” Enjolras said and stood. 

Combeferre rose as well and wrapped him in a hug. “Of course. I’m always here for you. Tell Grantaire to stop by at some point. Maybe I can get him talking too.”

“What’s this about Grantaire?” came a cheerful voice from the office door. “Oh… am I interrupting something? Sorry, I can go-”

“No, it’s fine,” Enjolras said, pulling away from Combeferre and straightening his jacket. “Hi, Courf.”

Courfeyrac’s smile faded slightly as he studied Enjolras’s face more keenly than he would have liked. “Are you okay?”

“He’s just blaming himself for the troubles of the world,” Combeferre said. “We just finished up doing inventory. Everything that we don’t need before the trip is packed away.”

“Good to hear. I was stuck helping Professor Valjean grade tests.”

“Complaining about your new job already? Just last week you were cheering about how you’d finally become his class aide!”

“That was a _month_ ago, ‘Ferre.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Time certainly flies, doesn’t it?”

“Especially when we only have a week until the trip? Aren’t you two excited?”

“Ugh.” Enjolras groaned. “Please don’t remind me.”

Courfeyrac slung an arm around each of their shoulders and marched them out of the room. “Enough worrying about it, Enj. We’re all going out tonight.”

“There’s so much that still needs to be done-” Enjolras began to protest.

“There’s not, and you know it. All we have to do is wait for the travel papers to arrive, and we’re all set to go. There’s nothing else that needs to be done tonight.”

“Where are we going?” Combeferre said, quickly changing the subject before Enjolras had another anxious breakdown. 

“Jehan’s found a new restaurant called the Corinthe. It’ll be a nice change from the usual meetings at the Musain. I just need to make sure we don’t get lost on the way there, I forgot to write the address down.”

“Courf, I swear-”

“I’m just kidding. Come on, everyone else is already there.”

The hallways of the university building were nearly empty. At seven in the evening, all the classes had already gotten out. The grounds outside were filled with people hanging around and having fun together, enjoying the long summer days. This close to the end of the school year, students seemed to linger far longer to enjoy the time that no longer was filled with homework and tasks that needed to be done.

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Courf asked, walking backward so he was facing Enjolras and Combeferre, a joyous bounce in his steps.

“It’s finally getting warm,” Enjolras laughed. Courfeyrac’s good moods were infectious, and he was already pushing his conversation about Grantaire to the back of his mind. There was time enough to be miserable later. “Too bad we’ll be missing most of the summer here.”

“New York is supposed to be nice, too. We’ll get to go out of the city for a few days and see the American countryside,” Combeferre added.

Out on the main road, Courf hailed a cab and the three of them squeezed into the back. 

“So what was this Grantaire-and-hugging business I walked in on?”

“Enjolras thinks it’s his job to protect and save everyone and punishes himself when he can’t,” Combeferre said. “I’ll be clear: I want to help Grantaire just as much as you do, but you can’t blame yourself for everything, Enj.”

 _But I could’ve helped him more. I should have. It’s my_ “Yeah, but it’s a hard habit to break.”

Courfeyrac still looked quite confused, so Enjolras began to explain from the beginning, going over their trip to Rome, and Grantaire’s subsequent recovery and crash. He’d never spoken about it to anyone save Grantaire himself ever since the trip, and now he’d told the story twice in one day.

Courf was silent for a long time. “You need to talk to him about it.”

“Shit, Courf, I’ve already tried it. We can be having an amazing conversation, then I even just mention it in passing, and he shuts me out completely. I want to help him, I do, but I don’t want to push.”

“Pushing isn’t always good,” Courf replied. “But sometimes they need it. I guess I didn’t notice but now, looking back at him, he’s definitely gotten much worse recently. I’m… I’m worried too. I think the trip will be good for him. And promise me, Enj, you’ll try talking about it again? Don’t let him divert you. I know you. He’s the only one who can pull you away from something you’re passionate about. Don’t let him pull you off of this.”

“Have you two ever considered becoming therapists?” Enjolras grumbled in the most cheesy mock-anger voice he could manage. “Seriously, thanks. He’ll be there, right?”

“Yep, and you’re going to talk to him about this. If you’d told me, I would have made the two of you talk a long time ago.”

“You know I’m not good at talking about… _feelings._ ”

“You’re perfectly good at talking at them during your protests and debates,” Courf teased. 

The cab slid to a halt outside a brightly lit cafe window.

“Talking _at_ people is fine,” Enjolras said as the three of them got out. “Talking _to_ people is an entirely different matter.”

Courf gave him a playful shove. “Relax, you’ll be fine. I’m not letting you leave until you talk to him, you’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep all that guilt inside.”

Enjolras shoved him back. “We’ll see.”

Loud voices and laughter spilled out of the Corinthe as Combeferre pulled open the restaurant’s door. Enjolras heard a voice yelling his name as soon as he entered.

“Enjolras!” Eponine was waving wildly and grinning. “Get over here or we’ll order without you!”

The close-knit core members of their theatre group had taken over the largest table in the restaurant. Enjolras made to take a seat between Eponine and Jehan, but Courf grabbed the chair before he did and gave him a not-so-subtle gesture at Grantaire. Enjolras glared back and moved to sit next to Grantaire instead.

 _I don’t want to talk to him about it,_ he mouthed at Courfeyrac.

 _You need to,_ Courf mouthed back, his face dead serious.

A server came over to take their drinks. 

“Water all around,” Enjolras said. It was the small things like this that he still tried to do for Grantaire. Eponine shot him a dirty look but didn’t protest.

He wasn’t particularly hungry himself, so all he ordered was a light sandwich for himself. Everyone else ordered full dinners, laughing and talking throughout the meal. 

As everyone drew nearer to finishing up, the conversation slowly began to turn to their upcoming trip and the play that they’d be performing on Broadway. The fact that they’d actually be able to act on one of the most famous theatres in the western world was still unbelievable to most of them.

“Enjolras and I finished up packing everything earlier. The things we don’t need before we leave are all going to be sent out tomorrow, and they’ll be waiting for us there. We’ll have practice at 7 o’clock each day for the rest of the week. I’ve sent letters to each of your professors, so they hopefully will take the trip into account with the lessons and homework they assign each of you,” Courferre told the group. “Remember, we’ll be representing our university there. This is one of the first times a non-professional theatre group has ever acted on Broadway. No pressure, of course.”

That last comment brought a round of good-natured laughter from all the students. Enjolras took over from there, explaining the travel plans. They’d fly from the main airport in Paris to London, England. They had two hours of downtime in the airport there before they boarded another plane set to fly across the Atlantic, arriving in New York the next morning. The biggest problem he could foresee was the massive time differences between France and America. They were many hours off, and he knew it would throw everyone for a loop trying to adjust.

“So everyone go home, get some good rest, and make sure you get to rehearsal on time tomorrow.”

“Yes, _mother_ ,” Jehan teased. “Don’t worry. When are we ever late?”

“You? All the time,” Feuilly called from the opposite end of the table.

Jehan threw his hands up in mock anger. “Touché. But seriously, Enj, don’t worry. This means everything to the rest of us, too.”

“I know it does. Remember rehearsal tomorrow. I've got permission to use the General Lamarque Memorial Auditorium since that stage is closer to the size of the Broadway ones. I know it's a last-minute change, but the orchestra has been using it every time we've wanted to. Go home, rest up. I'll see you all then."

They were some of the last customers left in the restaurant, save for a few people at the bar coming in for a late-night drink, and the atmosphere became significantly more quiet and subdued as his friends began to leave.

Enjolras made no move to leave, nor did Grantaire. He took that as a good sign: the two of them had gotten into an argument a week earlier when Enjolras had tried to confront him about his problems again, and Grantaire had been avoiding him ever since, not speaking to him past what was required for their roles in the upcoming performance. Combeferre gave each of them a friendly pat on the shoulder before heading out himself, giving Enjolras an extra whispered ‘ _good luck.’_

He was beginning to regret letting Courf talk him into this. Hell, why did words always come so quick and easy when he was giving a speech, or organizing a rally? They seemed to stick in his throat now.

“I haven’t run into you in a while, R,” he said at last. “If you’re busy, is there anything I can do to help?”

Grantaire shrugged. His eyes were red, as though he hadn’t slept for days, and there was a smear of green paint across his cheek. Enjolras wondered if anyone had bothered to let him know about it, and had to fight the urge to try to wipe it away himself.

“I have an art final that’s been driving me crazy. It just won’t turn out right, you know?” He picked up a knife from a plate that hadn’t yet been cleared, wiped it clean on a napkin, and began using the tip to dig dried paint out from around his fingernails. “They want us to do an abstract representation of what makes us happy. It’s ridiculous. Last year, we got a free-paint.”

“You did just get the new professor a month ago, though. Still no idea why the other one quit so suddenly?”

“Nah. I miss her though. She was good.”

“What are you doing for the project?”

“Dunno. I’ve tried a couple things. Nothing works.” He brushed the bits of paint off the knife blade and set it back down. “If… you want to come back to my place, you could take a look?”

Grantaire sounded hesitant, as though he was afraid Enjolras was going to spit down on the offer, but his eyes were open and hopeful.

Enjolras seized the proffered olive branch. “I’d love to.”

Grantaire smiled then. It was hesitant and small, but the expression transformed his features into something beautiful. “Should we get a cab? I got a ride here with Ep after class, but she already left.”

Soon, they were seated together in the back of a cab. _Talk to him!_ said Courfeyrac’s voice in his head.

 _Shut up,_ he told his mental Courf.

“You have…” Enjolras gestured vaguely to Grantaire’s cheek.

“Paint? Yeah, I know. Haven’t gotten a chance to wipe it off yet.”

“Oh.”

 _Well done, you’ve aced the small talk,_ Courf told him.

The rest of the drive to Grantaire’s home was in silence. He was older than most of the others in the group, and as an upperclassman had managed to get a place a short way off-campus. Enjolras had been there before, occasionally spending the night, countless times. It was far better than the dorms he was liking less and less each year. He’d been over there often enough that Grantaire had eventually just given him a key, telling him he practically lived there anyway.

It was dark when they arrived, and the streetlights were casting a merry yellow glow on the front of the building. Grantaire unlocked the main door and the two of them made their way upstairs to the apartment.

Enjolras winced when Grantaire flicked the light on. The entire place was a mess. Half-finished canvases were hanging on the walls and covered containers of paint sat on nearly every surface. Rainbow-splattered sheets that might once have been white had been thrown over the table and the couch to protect them. Sketches and scribbled notes had exploded off of the corkboard he’d hung and now covered almost any spot on the wall that wasn’t hung with paintings. In the corner, a massive covered easel had been placed in the only spot with any clear walking room.

The apartment was on the top floor of the building, so during the day, sunlight would stream in through the glass ceiling. The only thing that could be seen through them now were the leaves of the plants of the rooftop garden, pressing against the glass.

Grantaire pushed aside a box with his foot. Enjolras knelt to see what was in it.

“Are those your textbooks?”

“Last year’s,” Grantaire muttered. “I don’t need them anymore. Hell, I’m sorry about the mess. I didn’t figure you’d be coming over anytime soon.”

Enjolras sighed and began gathering loose canvases and books together, trying to organize things into neat stacks against the walls. “How do you even manage to walk around in here?”

Grantaire demonstrated a weird combination of jumps and balancing tricks through the very few blank spaces on the floor, turning on a large floor fan along the way. Enjolras followed him, albeit more cautiously. He knew Grantaire rarely tided his apartment up, but this was worse than he’d ever seen it. The small kitchen tucked in the corner was the only clean spot in the entire room. A few dishes were placed in the sink, but not as many as he’d feared. He opened up the tiny fridge to check. It was empty save for a carton of milk, a loaf of sliced bread, a head of lettuce, and several half-empty alcohol bottles, none of which could be combined to make a decent meal. He discreetly pulled several of the bottles out and dumped them down the drain when Grantaire wasn’t looking.

“Shit, R, what do you even eat?” Enjolras asked, closing the fridge again.

He looked up from his own cleaning up of his paintings, a confused expression on his face. “Eat?” he asked, then made a vague gesture. “Oh… we had dinner tonight, doesn’t that count?”

“Besides that. When was the last time you had an actual meal?”

“Cereal on… Saturday night, I think.”

“That was _two days ago,_ Grantaire, this is Monday. Cereal doesn’t count.”

Grantaire threw a paintbrush at him. “You sound like ‘Ferre, he’s always telling me to eat more.”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose. “And he’s right.”

Grantaire gestured to the covered easel. “You wanted to see the painting?”

“Later. I’m cleaning your place up first.” And he was true to his word. The dishes were the easiest part to get done and put away. He took advantage of putting them away (he knew exactly where Grantaire kept everything) to check what else his friend had. As it turned out, a mostly-full box of cereal, a few prepackaged meals, and an assortment of fruits. The fruit was in a bowl Enjolras had never seen before, with a note sitting on top. Opening it, he read the words _Eat More_ in Courferre’s handwriting. Well, that explained the new bowl.

When everything was put away, he joined Grantaire in clearing out the middle of the floor. He pinned scraps of paper to the walls, hung up finished paintings, and made stacks of everything that wasn’t being used at the moment for some project or another. They uncovered a few other dirty dishes that he moved into the sink.

A little over an hour later, the apartment finally looked reasonable. Most of the floor had been cleared, all of the paints and supplies had been arranged on the table. It wasn’t like Grantaire used it for anything besides another storage surface. All of his books had been placed back on the shelves that lined one wall, and they were able to sit on the couch once again. Grantaire cleaned up all the laundry in his bedroom and remade the bed with fresh sheets while Enjolras swept and took out the trash. Grantaire rarely took it out himself, but that didn’t matter when he hardly ever had anything in it.

“This is why I need you,” Grantaire said, collapsing back onto the couch. To Enjolras’s relief, the milk in his fridge hadn’t been spoiled, and they both had glasses of it. Enjolras had insisted on no alcohol for his friend.

“You’d starve to death without me,” he replied. “Remind me to come over more often so that we can try to keep this place in a good condition. It’s more work if you let it be overrun.”

“Yeah. Art now?” Grantaire gestured to the covered painting with his glass.

Enjolras nodded. His friend got up to pull the cloth off, and his heart skipped a beat as the painting was revealed.

The painting showed the perspective of someone standing on a stage, looking out at a vast and empty performance hall. A figure dressed in red and gold stood there, surrounded by people, but the others were dark and blurred. A beam of light fell across the single figure, bathing him in an almost heavenly glow. Mist and smoke, reflecting the colors of the rainbow, swirled across the stage. The person was frozen in action, waving a massive crimson flag through the air.

Enjolras made to touch it then stopped, his fingertips an inch away from the figure’s golden curls.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “Is that…”

He turned to look at Grantaire, who was blushing harder than Enjolras had ever seen him. “Thanks,” he managed. “It’s you. Well, it’s meant to be. I couldn’t get it looking right. I’m sorry, it’s awful, I know, I’m probably not even going to turn it in. It’s supposed to be something that makes you happy, and you do, you’re everything, so that’s what I drew, but I did warn you that it wasn’t any good, I-

Grantaire broke off his rambling as Enjolras wrapped him in a sudden, tight hug. “It’s beautiful, R, and I love it.”

“You- oh.” Grantaire melted into the embrace a moment later. “Thanks, I guess. Thank you.”

"So I'm really what makes you happy?"

"Course you are, what sort of question is that? It's you, it's always you."

"Cosette is an author, right? You've read her stories," Enjolras said. "She gave me some advice once. _A creator always thinks their work is awful, because they know how they wanted it to be and all they can see is the flaws. Everyone else sees its beauty._ And that's exactly the case here. No, it's far from perfect. But I wouldn't want it to be perfect. It's beautiful, regardless of what you think."

"That's one way of looking at it." Grantaire released Enjolras and threw the sheet back over the canvas. "I guess it's good enough to turn in."

"It's more than good enough, don't worry." He checked the time on the small digital clock. It had been balanced on top of a stack of books, and he'd moved it to a clear spot on the bookshelves instead. "It's after twelve. Can we call it a night? I have my civics final tomorrow morning."

"Sure. Stay here tonight, don't worry about getting a ride back to your dorm. Is-" Grantaire flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "D'ya want to sleep in my room or..."

Enjolras felt his own face go red. "The couch is fine."

"Now that we've cleaned it."

"Yeah."

They stood in awkward silence before Grantaire gave a little shrug. Enjolras followed him into the bedroom and took a few blankets from the closet and spread them out over the couch. He was a bit too tall to lie on it in comfort, and he ended up using one of the armrests as a pillow, but it was better than driving back to his place.

Grantaire flipped off the lights and left, and Enjolras was asleep in minutes.

He dreamed of a figure with golden hair, running through a battle. Everything was dark save for the flags. Red, red, red. Red like blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://i.pinimg.com/564x/10/26/85/102685b6e5cb14d2e3ec93daf1503d96.jpg - the art that inspired my idea of Grantaire's flat
> 
> R's painting is, of course, a reference to the broadway Les Mis performances. There's a specific photo I found but I've lost it since writing that part, sorry
> 
> Fair warning, I'm the least tech-savvy person you'll ever meet. I have Tumblr and no idea how to use it, so go say hi @pylades-hungry-and-orestes-sober


	2. By The Passion And The Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay long chapter! 
> 
> Grantaire fights with an invisible enemy as the group has one of their final rehearsals before their trip across the sea to America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical accuracy what's that
> 
> Look we're about to take a MASSIVE jump away from reality. I know that Phantom of the Opera never made it onto Broadway until 1988. It didn't even open until 1986. Our story takes place in 1969 but we're going to pretend that none of that is true and that Phantom was already around as a famous musical at the time period we need it to be. Because I just watched the version of Phandom with Hadley Fraiser and Ramin Karimloo and all I could see them as is Grantaire and Enjolras from the 25th anniversary concert, so that's what we're doing. Enj and R will be playing Erik and Raoul and you can't convince me to change my mind. 
> 
> So, that was your warning about my massively unrealistic and not-at-all-historically-accurate decision. Is the rest of the technology I'm describing era-accurate? Probably not, but I'm only leaving a warning about Phantom so I don't get people complaining about such a massive break from history.
> 
> I have recordings for both of those that I just talked about, if anyone's interested. Let me know in the comments. Also, if you happen to have a recording of one of the actual plays for Les Mis (NOT one of the concert recordings), bootleg or official or otherwise, also let me know that, because I'm desperate to try to find one and I can't. It sucks. Thanks.
> 
> Also, look up the University of Washington. It has some absolutely beautiful architecture that I was lucky enough to see when I was in the state a few years ago and I'm basing the college the amis are at off of it. It's not intended to be any specific college in France, just some random place I'm making up.
> 
> Enjoy, y'all!

The loud ding of a toaster woke Grantaire. It took him a few moments of _there's someone in my house_ panic before he remembered that Enjolras had spent the night in his apartment.

He dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the day previous and went out into the kitchen. Enjolras was sitting cross-legged on the countertop, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, buttering several pieces of toast. He held up a plate as soon as Grantaire walked in. “Good morning.”

“Ugh, no.” Grantaire hopped up onto the counter alongside Enjolras. He lifted half the blanket away and wrapped it around himself as well so they were sharing it. “It’s morning,” he said, taking a bite of his toast. “But it’s not good.”

Enjolras snorted and unplugged the toaster from the wall. Grantaire snuggled into him under the blanket. He was soft and warm.

“I don’t suppose there’s any coffee?” he asked.

“You’re out. I’ll stop by the market and grab you some later, if your pot isn’t entirely ruined. What did you put in there?”

“Oh. I was trying to make my own ink and I needed to boil water. I spaced and dumped the dye into the coffeepot instead of pouring it all into a separate pan.”

“You- never mind. We’ll get a new coffeepot too then, if I can scrape together enough money. You’d poison yourself drinking out of that.”

Not for the first time, Grantaire was struck by just how much Enjolras cared. He knew what most people said about him behind his back, and in front of him too. Everyone seemed to see him as little more than a drunk mess and a failure who was one bad grade away from being kicked out. Outside the theatre group, most people actively avoided him, save for the ones that went out of their way to be cruel. He was a wreck and a disappointment and he knew it, but somehow, Enjolras still was gentle and kind and stood by him. He stayed through the moods and relapses and was there to help him each time, and even though Grantaire knew he disappointed him so many times, Enjolras was still his friend. He cared about him, and it hurt Grantaire so much every time he let his friend down.

But he pushed the feelings aside, and nodded, and was more glad for Enjolras’s friendship than he could possibly give voice to.

When they’d finished eating - Grantaire wouldn’t have had breakfast if Enjolras hadn’t been there - they wrapped up the painting together in several layers of paper and cloth to protect it. It was nearly two feet wide and twice as tall, making it awkward to carry, but he was able to balance it against his shoulder as they walked. It wasn’t a long walk back to campus - the only reason they’d taken a cab the night before was that the restaurant had been so far away.

They parted ways there, each heading off to separate buildings for their classes. Grantaire stopped by his art room first to put the painting in a corner so he wouldn’t have to carry it around all day.

“You’re here early,” came a familiar voice from behind him. Eponine was leaning against the wall opposite.

“Really?” He checked the clock on the wall. His first class for the day didn’t start for another hour. “Apparently. You are too.”

She shrugged. “I was going to try to show up before everyone else so that I didn’t have to fight them for the good pottery wheels. Wanna join me?”

“Why not?” Grantaire dropped his bag next to Eponine’s and followed her into the other room. She’d already set up a station for herself. She retrieved another piece of pottery clay from the large metal trash can they kept it in and tossed it to him.

It had been several months since he’d made anything, and it took a moment for his thoughts to catch up with the muscle memory. He opted for a simple, plain bowl. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but since they were leaving in a week, he didn’t want to start any large projects.

Keeping the reddish clay moist with the tub of water between the two of them, Grantaire began to draw the clay up and down, bringing it into an even cylinder, adjusting the speed of the wheel as needed. He angled his thumbs into the middle to open it up and bring it open. It required a slow, steady hand, and a massive amount of patience, to shape it correctly without making it too thick or thin.

Next to him, Eponine was working on adding details to a much larger vase she’d started several days previously.

For his part, he changed his mind part of the way through shaping it and began bringing the top in and up to form a vase similar to Eponine’s, but on a far smaller scale without any of the intricate detailing. Slowing the speed, he took a scraper and used it to even out the walls of the vase, getting rid of any too-thick or too-thin places that would compromise the integrity later on. He had to use a soft cloth to get the extra water out from the inside, since he’d accidentally used too much water earlier. Well, better to have too much than too little.

When it was the final shape he wanted - a small vase, perhaps eight inches tall, with a narrow neck and a flared out lip. He pinched it around the lip to form wave-like ruffles along the top. To add a bit of design to the sides, Grantaire dug his fingertip into the side as it spun, dragging a shallow spiral from the neck all the way to the very base. He took it and carefully carried it over to the drying lockers. It would have to be bone-dry before he could do the bisque firing - the first stage of firing the clay. After it came out and cooled, he could glaze it and fire it again.

The vase that Eponine placed beside his was far more intricate. She’d added curling handles to either side, reminiscent of a Greek amphora. At a closer look, Grantaire realized it was entirely of Greek design, right down to the interlocking square trim and the designs she’d etched in, to be painted later.

“It’s my final,” she said, giving it a fond pat. “It won’t be graded until after we’re gone. I’m gonna have to trust the other morons in my class not to screw it up when they move it around.”

Grantaire snorted. “I wouldn’t trust them. I’ve seen some of the others in your class, and I wouldn’t let them anywhere near my stuff.”

She closed the locker door. The water that swirled down the drain as the two of them washed their hands was a thick reddish-orange and far from clear. It took several minutes before he’d gotten all of the clay scraped off of his skin. According to the clock, he still had fifteen minutes until class started, and it was in the same building as the art studio, so there was no need for him to rush.

He was about to grab his bag and leave when Eponine grabbed his shoulder to stop him.

“Wait, I need to talk to you.”

He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Look, the rest of us, we worry about you, y’know? Enj most of all, but he won’t say it. I know you’re not okay, even if you say you are. I won’t ask if anything happened, I’m not going to push, but I want you to know. We’re here for you, understand? Talk to us before anything else if…”

Grantaire sighed. “Before I do anything stupid? I’m not going to kill myself or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Drinking myself into oblivion? That’s way more likely.”

She winced, and he could tell he’d caught her meaning perfectly. “Yeah, well… be careful, R.”

He nodded and left, feeling her eyes on his back even after he was out of her sight. Between the whispering he'd seen between Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Combeferre earlier, Enj quietly insisting on accompanying him home, and now Eponine's sudden concern, he couldn't help but wonder if he was unconsciously taking a nosedive backward in his recovery process. Was he giving off some sort of signs he didn't even notice himself?

Grantaire caught a seat in the back of the lecture hall his next class was in. It was an ancient civilizations course with an emphasis on Greece, Rome, and Egypt. It was one of the only classes besides his art and music courses that he actually enjoyed, but he still spaced out for most of it. Instead of taking notes, he flipped the next open page in his sketchbook, doing a close-up sketch of small hands holding a vase. He hadn't drawn Eponine nearly as much as he'd drawn Enjolras, and her hands were a new and welcome challenge. They were slimmer than those of either Grantaire or Enjolras, with longer fingers, but the nails were chewed down to stubs and the skin was scattered with small nicks and cuts from her various projects. 

When he'd finished those, he turned to the next page and conjured up a mental image of Eponine's face. He'd been working on doing close-up features for a while now, since it was something he still wasn't very good at. Her eyes turned out far more unsymmetrical than they were in real life, but overall the sketch didn't look half bad. The drawings of Eponine weren't anything special; if someone else had seen them, they likely would have assumed she was a girl he was in love with, but they couldn't be farther from the truth. Ponine was one of his best friends, his art buddy, but the sketches of her were no different than all the other pages, filled with drawings of the rest of his friends.

On the other hand... he had entire sketchbooks filled with Enjolras. Everything about him, from his beautiful features, to scenes that caught his fierce passion and determination. Grantaire never included himself in any of the drawings. It wasn't that he didn't want to draw himself, he'd done plenty of practice self-portraits, but he didn't see himself as worthy as being in the same scene. How could he, a disappointment and a drunk and a mess, fill the same frame as a figure such as Enjolras?

 _A figure. Shit, R, he's your best friend. Since when did you think of him as some distant, unknown figure?_ Grantaire snapped his notebook closed and slid the pencil into a slit he'd cut in the spine. He tried to put all his thoughts of Enjolras and the concern of his friends out of his mind and focus on the professor. She was saying something about the historical basis of Homer's epics in ancient Greece, but most of the words seemed to go in one ear and out the other. When the class was finally released, he wandered out into the sun in the massive central courtyard. The college was arranged in four separate branches radiating out from it. Students sat around the fountain in the middle, laughing and talking about the upcoming end of the school year. 

He didn't see anyone he recognized except for Bossuet and his girlfriend Musichetta, walking hand-in-hand, chatting with his best friend Joly. He gave them a half-hearted wave as he passed. Grantaire knew he should have been more excited about the end of school and the upcoming trip to America, but it was just so _hard_ to find energy, so difficult to muster enthusiasm for anything. Today was, for some reason, an especially bad day. There was no particular reason why he felt so miserable today, but he did. 

Hell, he needed a drink as soon as classes were over for the day. It didn't fill in the pits of depression he often found himself tumbling into, but it could at least cover them over for a little while, long enough for him to try to regain his footing and take a few steps before a new hole opened up in front of him.

The rest of Grantaire's classes passed in much the same manner as the first. None of them were giving exams today, each of them hosting one last class for a review after the weekend before finals started in earnest tomorrow. He knew Enjolras had two of his final projects today - history and civil rights - and he was glad he wasn't taking either of them. His art project had been in the works for weeks now, and whatever happened next with it was out of his hands.

When he finally got out of his last one, he wandered back across the central courtyard and over to one of the other buildings. Their university had absolutely stunning architecture, this one not an exception. Gothic-Victorian style, it more resembled a church from the outside, but it contained the largest of the university's four main theaters, not counting the many small and far less important ones they had. It was still smaller than the one they'd be performing on when they were on Broadway next week, but the stage itself was the same size.

This theater - called the General Lamarque Memorial Stage, after a famous historical military figure Grantaire knew Enjolras had always admired - was a last-minute change to their rehearsals, but, as Enjolras had said the night before, it had only recently become available for them to practice on.

He went around through a side hallway that wrapped around the theater for the members of a performance. The backstage door had been propped open with a large fake rock, spray-painted gold, silver, and purple for no good reason. Grantaire knew of its unfortunate tendency to lock itself, even when there was no one around to do it. The university maintenance had replaced the locks several times and the entire door itself once, but nothing had made any difference. Even amongst theatre groups, Grantaire's friends, himself included, were highly superstitious, and even though there was likely a reasonable explanation for the self-locking door somewhere, but they tended to mark it down to the resident stage ghost, Olson. As such, only the painted rock was allowed to be used to keep to door open, nothing else. It had been a rule since even before he started at the college, and no one knew where the rule had come from, but the one time they'd used a chair instead, two people had ended up with broken bones and Bossuet had nearly been killed when a weighted sandbag came plummeting down from above the stage. They'd instantly switched the chair out for the rock, even before they'd escorted Eponine and Joly out to get their breaks looked at.

All of that of course boiled down to say that Grantaire and the rest of the group took the theater superstitions very seriously, so he stepped over the rock without disturbing it and made his way through the maze of supplies set up behind the curtains.

A red-headed figure was lying on his stomach in the middle of the stage, propped up on his elbows, stitching at a black piece of fabric.

"That looks uncomfortable," Grantaire remarked, dropping his bag on the stage by a wall. The textbooks and drawing supplies within landed with a thud.

Jehan stuck the needle he was using in his mouth and rolled over onto his back. He rubbed at his elbows. "I guess so. I was going to move once I finished up here."

"Whatcha working on?" Grantaire sat down cross-legged next to Jehan.

"Enjolras missed his backup cape when he was packing everything. Some idiot brought it to be washed then separated it from the rest of the laundry when they were bringing it back. I only found it when I brought my own stuff to be washed here, since there were too many people waiting back at my dorm."

"Screw the system and take advantage of the theater, huh? Enj would be proud."

Jehan laughed, somehow managing to keep the needle from falling out of his lips and getting lost on the floor. "Anyway, the fool managed to rip it somehow. It looks like they stepped on it. I'm just repairing it real quick so I can give it to Enjolras whenever he shows up."

"You sure that's the only thing we missed?"

"I'm... fairly sure? Ninety-nine percent. Ninety. No, maybe seventy-five. I'm seventy-five percent sure that's everything."

Grantaire raised his eyebrows. "Seventy-five?"

Jehan flushed. "Okay. Sixty-nine. That has to be the lucky percent, right? Since it's 1969, you know?"

"C'mon, I'm teasing. I'm sure you got everything."

"If you say so," Jehan said doubtfully. "Look at that, you're making me second-guess everything."

"Don't worry. Like I said, you got everything. You're the best manager we've had, because you don't forget stuff."

Their theatre group was almost entirely student-run. They had precisely one teacher involved on a regular basis, and he was really only there for legal reasons, since a group such as theirs needed a professor to supervise meetings. Enjolras was the president of their group and actually ran everything daily, but he also often had a role within their performances. Combeferre was the director of the plays and likely the most knowledgeable of them all about theatre, so he would run every rehearsal. Courfeyrac had been their original stage manager but had quickly stepped down, preferring to be able to act in their plays without having to worry about the responsibility of a leadership position. Jehan had taken his place instead and was excellent at his job. Enjolras ran the theatre group, Combeferre ran the show, and Jehan ran the backstage. It was a good arrangement, even if Jehan did spend half his time working on costumes with Eponine and Azelma instead.

Jehan and Grantaire ended up sitting on the edge of the stage, chatting about inconsequential happenings as Jehan finished repairing Enjolras's black cloak. The next person to show up, shortly after Jehan finished, was Musichetta, holding a cardboard bakery box above her head and grinning triumphantly.

"Who wants pastries?" she called in a sing-song voice, striding down the aisle between the seats.

Jehan was trying to open the box even before she'd set it down on the stage. Chetta slapped his hand away, offering the box to Grantaire first. "Patience, Prouvaire," she said in a mock-stern tone. "Have some manners."

"Yes, Chetta," he said sheepishly. "But do hurry up, R."

Grantaire selected a chocolate-filled croissant, bits of pastry flaking away in his fingers. It was a bit misshapen from being layered in the box with well over a dozen other pastries for everyone else, but tasted no worse for it.

Soon after Chetta arrived, the rest of the group began trickling into the theater, some through the front doors and others coming around from the back, like Grantaire did. He knew Enjolras well enough that he was certain his friend would come through the back door, and he grabbed the newly-repaired cloak to go and wait for him there. Sure enough, Enjolras came around the corner less than ten minutes later.

"Jehan found this," he said, tossing the cape at him.

Enjolras caught it and swung it around his shoulders, over his bag. "Thanks. I thought I packed it...?" He trailed off, his voice questioning.

"Apparently it got lost in the laundry." _Come on, R, don't be a coward, ask him why everyone's suddenly so concerned about_ you, he said to himself, but what came out instead was "come on, everyone else is here." _Well, you certainly failed that one._

Enjolras stepped over the painted rock, careful not to disturb it, and Grantaire followed in the same manner. Everyone was chatting and laughing, but the noise faded away as Enjolras and Grantairewalked up to the middle of the stage. Combeferre jumped up onto the stage and took his place beside them.

"Thanks for being on time, everyone," Enjolras began. "I have complete faith in our skill, and there are no big kinks we need to try to work out today. All we're doing is a full rehearsal straight through."

This was met with a chorus of groans.

"All of it?" someone called out. Grantaire couldn't tell who.

"Yes, all of it," Combeferre responded, taking over from Enjolras. "There are no parts we need to devote extra time to, so I want us all to get used to performing on a larger stage. I'm sorry we weren't able to do so before now, but I'd like you to get a feel for what our stage will be like in New York, even though we'll have several days to rehearse there before we actually perform. As most of you should already know, the stage there is set up for the same play we'll be doing, which is nearly identical to what we just took down here, so we won't be having to change any of the choreography. No costumes or set today, as everything is already packed away. We'll have to make do without the props, like we did when we first started practicing for this play. Questions?"

After a moment of silence, Combeferre made a shooing gesture. "We'll get the sound set up. Go and warm up while we figure this out."

Feuilly and Bahorel stepped up and lifted two large speakers onto the stage as the rest of the crowd. Azelma put a tape player beside them and plugged long cables in, connecting the three units. The three of them moved the speakers to either side of the stage, adjusting them as Azelma ran through the tape she put into the player, making sure everything was working as she flicked through the different tracks. Some of the other students who ran lights and sound had gone up to the box, and were checking that everything was working. Even though the lights on the stage were just running through tests, Grantaire felt something change in him. He loved theatre, loved performing works of art for people. A stage was a magical place, somewhere that reality was slightly altered in the best way possible.

Soon, the people scattered throughout the auditorium wandered back to the stage, fading into the curtains, save for the few actors who were in the first scene.

Enjolras and Grantaire stood together in the shadows, Enj with the cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and watched as Azelma pressed a button on the player and the pre-recorded music filled the theater.

And so the Phantom of the Opera began.

* * *

When they had first received the invitation to perform on Broadway, along with several other college theatre groups from around the world, they had been given a list of plays and musicals that they could choose from. It ended up that they were one of the only groups that had chosen to perform a musical, because they'd be doing the entire thing in English, rather than the language of their country, and it was hard enough to learn it in general. Even if one was fluent in a language other than their birth tongue, it was even more difficult to _sing._ They had chosen one of the most difficult possible performances with an opera in a foreign language. Grantaire had heard that it was hard enough to sing opera in a language one had grown up speaking.

They'd originally cast Grantaire as playing the Phantom himself. Once, a long time ago, Enjolras had mentioned that Grantaire had the 'voice of an angel' and the angel nickname had stuck, though Grantaire had eventually managed to turn it around on Enjolras. When they got around to this play, they'd figured, who better to play the angel of music than the angel they already had? In the end, Grantaire hadn't been able to quite hit all the right notes in the opera that they needed for the character of the Phantom. They'd still wanted him in a major role since he had one of the most beautiful voices of their entire group, so they had him switch places with Enjolras, so now, he was playing Raoul and they had a golden-haired Phantom. 

Enjolras said on several occasions that Grantaire's dark hair had looked far better with the white mask and dark costume of the Phantom, but he'd adamantly refused to wear a dark wig himself.

Of course, even though he'd mastered the opera-style singing of Raoul's part, he'd have trouble recreating it for any other character. Cosette had spent hours with him, trying to help him fit into the role of the Phantom, but in the end, they'd both given up. _Ironic_ , he thought, watching her sing her aria in the first song, _that she, Christine, would have been the one teaching me, the Phantom._

The stage emptied, leaving Cosette - but she wasn't really Cosette now, she was fully Christine - alone, her beautiful voice filling the theater.

_Think of me_  
_Think of me fondly_  
_When we've said goodbye_  
_Remember me once in a while_  
_Please promise me you'll try_  
_When you find_  
_That once again you long._

_To take your heart back and be free_  
_If you ever find a moment_  
_Spare a thought for me_  
_We never said_  
_Our love was evergreen._

_Or as unchanging as the sea_  
_But if you can still remember_  
_Stop and think of me_  
_Think of all the things_  
_We've shared and seen._

_Don't think about the way_  
_Things might have been_  
_Think of me, think of me waking_  
_Silent and resigned._

_Imagine me, trying too hard_  
_To put you from my mind_  
_Recall those days_  
_Look back on all those times_  
_Think of the things we'll never do._

_There will never be a day_  
_When I won't think of you._

Halfway through her part, he moved out onto the stage, watching her.

As soon as he did, much like Cosette, he was transfigured. Even without his costume, even without a set, in a moment he ceased to be simply Grantaire, and fully embraced his role.

Raoul watched Christine singing, listening to the music swell. He didn't even have to think about where to come in.

_Can it be? Can it be Christine?_  
_Bravo!_  
_Long ago, it seems so long ago_  
_How young and innocent we were,_  
_She may not remember me_  
_But I remember her._

Christine turned to him slightly, her eyes bright. He saw the same joy of theatre in them that he felt himself.

_Flowers fade_  
_The fruits of summer fade_  
_They have their season so do we_  
_But please promise me that sometimes_  
_You will think-_

Christine sang a series of notes, several so high he could only dream of being able to hit them. Raoul held out his hands, as though reaching for Christine, as she finished her song.

_OF ME!_

Throughout the rest of the rehearsal, they only had three major hijinks. Chetta, who was playing prima donna Carlotta, missed her cue once, since they were performing without a microphone system and she hadn't been able to hear from backstage. Christine and the Phantom had difficulties trying to remember what they needed to do without the raised layers of the set, since they weren't used to a nondimensional stage. The last one was when neither Raoul nor the Phantom could contain their laughter after Enjolras failed spectacularly at trying to strangle Grantaire with an imaginary lasso, and they were fighting to keep singing without completely breaking character. A close runner-up to those three was the moment the Phantom fell over and got tangled in his own cloak as he was trying to sit on his invisible throne at the end. It wasn't entirely necessary for them act everything out to the same amount of detail they would during a normal rehearsal, but they soon dissolved into seeing who could make the others break character while continuing to sing on their own. At first, Enjolras and Combeferre kept breaking out of their scripts to try to tell the others to behave and that this was a genuine, necessary rehearsal and that they would be on _Broadway_ in a week.

"This isn't a game," Enjolras snapped at Grantaire halfway through the second act. "Be serious."

Grantaire did an overly-dramatic ballet pirouette. "I am wild."

After that, even Enjolras joined in on the game, and the Phantom ended up being one of the best at keeping a straight face while teasing the others. Azelma - Meg - had the last laugh over the others, faking an entire fainting fit of shock when she found the Phantom's imaginary mask in one of the final scenes.

After the finale, they all came out to take a bow to applause from their stage crew, who'd been pretending to be an audience, as they didn't have any of their normal tasks to do during the performance. It wasn't quite as exhilarating as listening to the roar of a massive, full theater. Combeferre gave them all a fifteen-minute break to go off and get water, sit down, and recover from the rehearsal before they discussed it.

Enjolras had gone off to one of the corners of the backstage, where one of the actual drama classes - not their group - had moved several old couches together to create a spot to collapse and relax whenever someone needed it between songs, but didn't have enough time to retreat to one of the practice rooms outside of the stage. Grantaire followed him back and found that in addition to Enjolras, Courf and Cosette were already there.

"That was something," Grantaire said, sitting on the back of one of the couches.

"You're telling me." Cosette pulled several pins out of her hair. It fell in a messy, tangled ball down her back, damp with sweat.

 _Whoever decided to create the trope in books that a girl could simply pull a pin out of an updo and have it cascade beautifully over her shoulders was dead wrong,_ Grantaire thought, watching her.

"I suppose it was a good thing that it wasn't a very needed rehearsal," Enjolras said, dragging a hand through his own damp hair. "You lot should have been serious about it."

"Oh, don't tell me you didn't have fun," Courf exclaimed, giving Enjolras a playful shove. "That was one of the greatest rehearsals we've had in a long time."

"Fine, it was, but if we decide to do anything like that when we get to America, it won't end well."

"Lighten up, Enj. We've already performed it for a full audience several times here, we know the drill. It won't be any different there, except there'll be way more people."

"That's a massive difference!"

"Ooh, is someone getting stage fright?" Grantaire said, dropping back on to the couch so he was sitting on it upside down, his legs dangling over the top and his back on the seat right next to Enjolras.

Enjolras glared. "When I get stage fright, I'll be sure to let you know."

Courf coughed, drawing the attention of both Grantaire and Enjolras. "So. R, how have you been doing? We haven't been able to really talk in a while."

 _Fucking hell, not this again._ "I'm doing fine, why?"

"No reason," Courf said. It sounded to Grantaire like he was making far too much of an effort to sound nonchalant, which made it even more obvious that there was indeed a reason. "Just checking up on, you, that's all. If you ever need help with anything, let us know, okay?'

"I'm _fine,_ Courfeyrac." Grantaire didn't often use Courf's full name, but it, combined with his hard, flat tone, left no doubt that it was the end of the conversation. _I don't need you all worrying about me. I'm the same as I've always been. I'm fine. Aren't I?_

He swung his legs above him, then forward, the momentum allowing him to pull himself up and back over the top of the couch. "I'm going to go get water."

When he strode away, he imagined himself looking graceful and furious and dramatic. In reality, he probably looked like a petty, pouting child, but at that point, he didn't care. Grantaire hated being the object of their pity, treated carefully like something they needed to keep a constant watch to keep him safe. _True,_ he thought, rubbing his right arm through the sleeve, _I've been in some dark, rough places in the past. But I'm fine now. I'm fine and I don't need their pity and concern._

Out in the hallway, alone, he leaned against the wall, focusing on his breathing. In for a count of five, hold for five, out for ten.

After a moment, he felt a sharp flash of pain on his wrist and looked down in surprise. He'd been gripping his own wrist so tightly that his nails had sliced into his skin, leaving four red crescent cuts on the underside.

"Shit!" He dropped his head back against the wall. The cuts, in that spot, were the last thing he needed, even if they were completely accidental. Enjolras would probably refuse to leave him alone for the next month if he saw them. Grantaire raised his arm to his mouth and sucked the beads of blood away, then pressed the inside of his sleeve against them and squeezed until they stopped weeping tiny crimson drops. "Shit," he said again.

Someone knocked on the open door beside him, and Cosette poked her head out of the doorway. "Hey. You ready to come back?" she asked.

He was glad she didn't ask if he was okay. "Yeah. I'm good. Let's go."

Everyone else had already gathered on the stage, sitting and standing in a rough circle. None of them paid too much attention to Grantaire and Cosette as they rejoined the group.

Combeferre was standing in the middle of them. He and Cosette exchanged a discreet thumbs-up that Grantaire didn't miss but pointedly ignored.

"That didn't turn out exactly as we expected, but I'll admit that was one of the most fun rehearsals we've had in a while," Combeferre said, shoving his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand.

"Not as expected?" Azelma interrupted. "I'm sure you meant to say absolutely amazing there. That was the best thing to ever happen." She pressed a hand to her forehead, mirroring her mock faint from earlier. "One comment, though?"

Combeferre nodded. "Go ahead."

"Erik and Raoul are supposed to be in love with Christie, not each other," she said, grinning, and gestured at Enjolras and Grantaire.

His cheeks went hot and red. He began frantically searching through his memories, trying to think of something, anything, that might have given his love of Enjolras away. "I'm, uh- I'm not in love with him, it's just-" _How does she know? I've never told anyone I love Apollo!_

"Relax, I'm teasing," Azelma said with a smirk. "But seriously. You keep staring at Enjy over here all sappy. I know you're best friends and all, but try to direct some more of that at Cosette, okay?"

Grantaire risked a glance at Enjolras. His face was entirely blank and impassive.

"Oh, let him be, Zel," Eponine said, jabbing her younger sister. "If R wants to hide his crush on Cos, you shouldn't be calling him out on him."

Cosette turned to look at Grantaire, eyebrows raised. "I'm flattered, but really. You're my friend but no thanks."

Grantaire flipped Eponine and Azelma a rude hand gesture behind his back. They both returned it in unison. He didn't really mean it, though. Everyone knew that Cosette was trying to get one of the boys in her creative writing class - Grantaire thought his name was Marius - to notice her as more than a friend. He was grateful for Eponine for drawing the attention away from him, turning what might have been a serious accusation from Azelma into a joke.

"Oh my darling, how you've hurt me!" he exclaimed, pressing his hands over his heart. "My dearest Cosette, is this how you return my love?!"

A good-natured round of laughter echoed around the auditorium. Eponine caught his eye and gave him a serious nod paired with a thumbs-up, jerked her head subtly at the exit, and made a twirling gesture with her fingers, like a clock, against her lips. It was part of the subtle series of codes the group had developed to be able to communicate during a performance without making noise. Together, all of her signals combined to mean _You're welcome, but we need to talk later._ She added on a final gesture - two fingers on her left hand, held in a V, swiping the index finger of her right over them. _Alone._

He nodded back, then returned his attention to Combeferre, who was finishing up talking to the group.

"We all know how it's going to go. We're going to run two more rehearsals this week if Tuesday and Thursday work for everyone. I understand that most of you have finals, but I've spoken with your teachers and you should all be good to go for those days. I don't have any other announcements, besides the few things I went around to individually discuss with people earlier, so you're free to head out."

There was a chorus of farewells as the group rose to their feet and began trickling out to the theatre.

Grantaire grabbed his bag and went out the back door to wait for Eponine. She appeared a moment later, grabbed his arm, and dragged him into one of the practice rooms.

"All right. Explain," she said, grabbing a chair and twirling it around, then sat down backward.

Grantaire took the other chair and sat down in the same manner. It felt like an interrogation. "Explain what part?"

"Don't play stupid. You know what I mean."

"Enjolras?"

"Enjolras."

Grantaire sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah. Fine. What do you want me to say about him? That I-" he waved a hand vaguely, not wanting to say it."

"Hey." Eponine put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Whatever you say stays in this room, no matter what. I won't tell anyone else anything at all. Nothing. It doesn't matter what it is, even if I think I should tell someone, I won't. Don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone your stuff, but I can also tell you have stuff you need to get off your chest."

Her words seemed to touch something in him. Usually, Enjolras was the one he went to when he needed to talk, but Eponine was his closest friend after Enj, and he couldn't exactly go to him with this, could he?

"Yeah. So you probably guessed that I... you know. Enj."

"You- shit. Really? That wasn't just a joke?"

"Look, I know you'll think it's wrong, I know it's messed up. He's a guy, I am, and it's just- I know, okay? But I do."

Eponine sat back and let out a long breath. "Okay. I actually didn't see that one coming. I admit it was a theory, but it was pretty much dead bottom on the list of likeliness."

"You're not... mad?" Grantaire asked. He'd expected her to be, somehow. He'd only told two other people, and after their reactions, some part of him didn't believe that anyone could take the news calmly.

She tipped her head to the side. "Why would I be mad? It's... weird, sure, but I'm cool with weird. I wouldn't want you to be ordinary, anyway."

"Ordinary?"

"Mm-hm. Ordinary's boring."

"Last time someone found out, they called me a freak and beat me black and blue. Somehow I expected the same reaction this time."

Any trace of humor on Eponine's face vanished. "Hell, R. I didn't know that, I shouldn't have asked. I doubt there's anything I can do to them in exchange?"

Grantaire laughed. He was infinitely grateful Eponine hadn't asked if he was okay. The answer to that would have been a solid _no,_ and he didn't feel ready to give that answer.

"If you want to go and beat my parents up, feel free. But I doubt that'll do anything, so I guess not."

"Your _parents?_ Damn, and I thought I had it bad. Well, I have shit parents too, but I suppose they're not quite that bad."

"Looks like we can form Team Shit Parents, though," he said. "But yeah. Enj. He's amazing, you know? He's passionate and brave and strong and I wish I could be more like that. He doesn't act like I'm a disappointing failure. I mean, I am, obviously, but still."

"You're not." Eponine leaned forward. "Listen to me. You might be a mess sometimes, but you're not disappointing, and you're definitely not a failure."

"Thanks." He couldn't tell if he said it sarcastically or not.

There was a long pause. Grantaire pulled a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and took one for himself, offering another to Eponine. She took it and lit them both with her own lighter. He'd never been able to understand how she was able to self-regulate. It seemed like she could occasionally take a smoke without ever getting hooked or having to scrounge for change to get another pack, like Grantaire. Honestly, he wasn't sure what would kill him first: the alcohol or the cigarette. Technically, they could both get in serious trouble for smoking inside a school building - it was allowed outdoors - but Eponine did it so rarely she wouldn't get in trouble, and it wasn't like it would be Grantaire's first time being punished for it.

Eponine inhaled deeply before breathing out a long, thin stream of smoke. "You know how bad these things are, right?" A moment later she broke off in a coughing fit, laughing through it.

"Been a while?" Grantaire asked. He took a drag of his own, making the tip flare red.

"Yeah. But about Enj," Eponine continued. "I... guess I see it now. I knew you were really close, even for friends, but looking back. You're so, _so_ in love, R, it shouldn't even be funny," she said, looking like she was trying to contain her laughter. "Does he know?" She froze, her cigarette hovering between open lips. "Wait, have you two been together this whole time?"

"I wish. I don't think he knows. I really doubt it. He's brilliant, but he can be incredibly thick sometimes. Even if I kissed him, he'd probably pass it off as a friend thing. That's what you girls do, right? You guys kiss each other as friends."

Eponine made a face. "Yeah, some, I guess. I don't, but I see your point."

Grantaire stretched his arms out above his head, his back giving several satisfying pops. His sleeve slipped down his wrist, and he noticed his mistake too late. He jerked his arms back down to cover the new cuts from his fingernails, but Eponine reached out and grabbed his arm. _How does that girl have such fast reflexes?_

"What happened." It wasn't a question.

Grantaire jerked his arm back, nearly dropping his cigarette, but at that point, he didn't bother trying to cover over the marks. "Accident. I was frustrated, and-" he wrapped his other hand around his wrist, showing how his nails fit against the crescent scabs. "Look, Eponine, leave it. I didn't mean to do it this time, it was an accident. I'm fine. It's _nothing._ This is my business. Let me have some privacy, okay?"

"There's a balance between letting you have privacy and keeping you safe."

Grantaire let out a frustrated hiss and yanked both his sleeves up. "Look. No new cuts. I'm fine. Happy?"

Eponine nodded. "Yeah. Look, I'm trying to help you, okay? I know I'm shit at helping, but unless you let Enj or someone help you, I have to do my best, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."

He rose to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulders, pausing in the doorway. "Don't tell anyone, okay? And definitely not Enj."

"Of course not." 

And just like that morning, it felt like she could still see him even after he was long out of her sight. He crushed the stump of his cigarette in his palm, ignoring the sharp pain of the still burning tip, and dropped it in an ashtray outside the back entrance to the theater before hailing a cab home.

* * *

As soon as Grantaire got back to his apartment, he opened a bottle of scotch and set up a new easel and canvas. He didn't bother with a glass, drinking directly out of the bottle as he began to sketch out a rough design on a drawing pad. The sun was beginning to light up the sky and the bottle was empty by the time he finished hours later. The painting was rough and messy, but true.

For the first time, he had painted an image of him and Enjolras together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression is a weird thing, ya know? You don't have to have a reason for it. You don't need a tragic backstory as an excuse. It's pretty much just a mental chemical imbalance, right? The part of your brain that's supposed to make happy juice doesn't work right. So no, Grantaire doesn't really have a reason. I mean, yes, he has fucking awful parents, but they're not really the cause of it. He's absolutely brilliant in some subjects, like art and music and dancing and philosophy, but he's shit at math and English and science, and as a result, everyone seems to view him as a failure because our school systems (at least here in America, which is all I know, I have no clue about French schools) view academic subjects as the only important ones and arts are regarded as unimportant. That's led to him feeling like an utter failure himself, giving way to his (pretty severe) depression and drinking problems. 
> 
> Just thought I'd get that out of the way. I'll definitely talk about this more and actually expand on it in the story, but I feel like I did a crappy job of explaining it in this chapter and I'll admit it feels kinda forced. So yeah. There you go.
> 
> Love y'all,  
> -Av


	3. Shall I Join My Brothers There?

Enjolras wasn't one for packing. Rather, he'd dump all the clothes he thought he'd need for a trip on his bed and begin to shove them into a suitcase and wait for either Courf or Combeferre to stumble upon the bulging case, open it, and repack everything neatly, then Enjolras could put books and toiletries into the remaining space. It seemed to exasperate the two of them to no end, but neither of them had ever complained, since Enjolras would do his best to discreetly repay them - making dinner and doing dishes on the nights they didn't go down to one of the university cafeterias, collecting everyone's laundry and taking it down to be washed, or other tasks to help out around their room.

He shoved another jacket and a pair of socks into his case. The hotel they'd be staying at would likely have a place for them to do laundry, so he wouldn't have to pack too many clothes. Besides, he wore the same red jacket most days anyway, plus jeans and boots. There wasn't much extra to throw in. He refused to leave room for his textbooks and notes, since Ferre would probably bring his and they were in a lot of the same classes, and he didn't want to spend the entire trip studying.

There were voices from the other room. Their dorms were divided out into smaller units. A tiny multipurpose living room was in the middle, with two bedrooms on either side, with two people in each room. Courf and Ferre shared one, and a boy named Bahorel lived with Enjolras, though he was rarely there, even at night.

He hauled his half-closed suitcase onto his bed and kicked some of his belongings back into his half of the room, in case Bahorel came back to pack up the few items he still had in his room. Even though the school year was over, Enjolras had been assured that he could leave any items he didn't need with him over the summer in his room, as he'd be getting the same one when he returned for the next year, unless he wished to switch. Upperclassman privileges and all. Freshmen like Eponine and Cosette had gotten assigned dorms in the building for their year, and both of them seemed immensely relieved that they were getting to move out.

Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Cosette all stood in the main room, chatting.

"Enj!" Cosette gave a cheerful wave. "Hey. I was just about to come and get you. Now that you're here, do you want to help us?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Help you with what, exactly? Should I be scared?"

"You probably won't die."

"How reassuring."

"So basically, you guys are going to be my wingmen and I'm going to go talk to Marius."

"He's the one you have a crush on, right?"

Cosette flushed and ducked her head. "Yeah. Maybe."

"No." He turned around to leave. He wasn't sure why he was so against the idea without even having heard her full plan, but something inside of him said that it would be a bad idea. "No way."

"Hear me out!" Cosette called, grabbing his shoulder.

"Cos, I'm the last person you want to try to score you a date. Ask Chetta, she's the one who has two boys practically drooling over her."

Cosette released him, surprised. "Two?"

Enjolras snorted. "Yeah, two. Have you honestly not seen the way Joly looks at her?"

"Actually, no, I haven't. Stop changing the subject. Why not?"

"I haven't the slightest clue what you even expect me to do beside follow you and lurk around menacingly and chase him off!"

"Do your-" she waved her fingers at him vaguely in an imitation of what they'd deemed the 'Phantom Hands'. "Do your Phantomy charm thing."

"That's ridiculous. I can't charm him like I can charm you, darling Christine." The last few words were dripping with sarcasm. "Besides, I need to finish packing. I might also add that I have one more final tomorrow that I'd like to spend a few hours studying for."

"What class?"

"Social science."

"I'll help you study if you help me. I did a semester of that one last year but I couldn't fit it into my schedule again."

"I don't need help studying." He turned to go and was halfway through the door when she called after him one last time.

"MariuscansingandwestillneedaRaoulunderstudybecauseourlastonequitlastminute!" she said in one single, rapid breath.  
Enjolras paused and turned half around. "Again but slower, if you don't mind?"

"Marius can sing. He's good. He can go in the ensemble and we need an understudy for Raoul anyway since ours quit."

"Grantaire was thoroughly against having an understudy. He doesn't seem to ever need one in all the years he's been in the group."

"Then just as an ensemble member?" Cosette asked, her voice almost pleading.

Enjolras raked a hand through his hair and sighed. "Let me get this straight. You want me to help convince Marius to join this trip at the absolute last second so that you can try to score a date with him, is that right?"

Cosette paused for a moment. "No. Yes. Fine. Enj, please?"  
Enjolras sighed again. "Fine. Just this once, and never again. What's your plan?"

"I told you she could convince him," he heard Ferre whisper.

"And you were right, as usual," Courf responded.

"I can hear you two," Enjolras said.

"Heard what?"

Enjolras didn’t deem that worthy of a response and turned back to Cosette. “Does he know English? Most of us have been taking it for years, and I’ve never seen him in any of those classes.”

“Uh, I think? It’s not very good, but he knows it. We could have just performed it in French instead. It takes place in France anyway.”

“It’s a new musical, they haven’t translated it into any other languages yet.”

Cosette was practically bouncing up and down on her heels. “So you’re coming?”

“This is the first and last time I ever help you score a date, Cos.” Enj leaned back into his room to grab his red jacket from a coathook and threw it over his shoulders like a cape. “Let’s get this over with.”

She grinned. “He’s in the library right now. He’s been going there every day after class to study for his finals.”

Enjolras closed his eyes. “Dear god, do you have his schedule memorized?”

“Stalker,” Courfeyrac added, nudging her shoulder playfully.

She pushed him back, still smiling, and led the way out into the hallway. Their room was on the fourth floor and the halls were filled with a strange energy. It was at once somber with the sorrow of those who would be leaving as they finished up their final year, the emotional farewells to friends, and the excited buzz of the end of school and the beginning of summer. There were still two weeks to go after this, but their group was being excused from those last two so that they could fly to America.

Bags and suitcases were piled in hallways. Most of the doors into the rooms were open, as well as their windows, so a warm spring breeze swept through the building, Students ibside were revealed to be packing or studying for upcoming finals.

All of Enjolras’s study notes filled his head and swarmed his vision whenever he blinked even though he tried his best to put them out of his thoughts. There’d be time enough for studying after he helped Cosette earn her date.

The courtyards and paths between buildings were full of students trying to enjoy the summer, just as they had been the day before. Cosette led the way, all four of them exchanging cheery waves with friends that they passed.

There were more people in the library than Enjolras had expected there to be. He had no clue who Marius was or what he looked like, but it only took Cosette a moment to scan the rows of chairs and study benches and locate him.

He glanced up in surprise as they approcaed, breaking into a grin when he saw Cosette.

“Hey! I thought you had something with you drama club going on?”

“Mm-hm. Actually, there’s something about that I wanted to ask you.”

Enjolras took a moment to study Marius as they spoke. He was tall and gangly, sitting a bit awkwardly as though he didn’t quite know what to do with his long limbs. His hair was cut short, and could have been a dark blond or light brown. Hair always looked darker when it was short. The odd lighting of the study tables made his freckles pop out more than Enjolras suspected they would in normal sunlight. He had dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, a look Enjolras recognized well.

“Marius, meet Enjolras. He’s the president of out drama club. Marius, Enjolras. Enj, Marius.”

“Pleasure,” Marius said, flipping his textbook closed and holding out his hand. Enjolras took it and gave it a firm shake. He still no clue what exactly Cosette wanted him to do.

“These are Courfeyrac and Combeferre,” Enjolras added, gesturing to their two friends, who had been hanging back awkwardly. “Cosette’s been telling me you have an interest in drama and theatre?”

It was a stretch of the truth- she’d said he was a good singer, nothing more. Even so, it was enough.

Marius’s face lit up. “Actually, yeah. I couldn’t fit drama into my schedule because all the classes fell at the wrong times with the other courses I wanted to take.”

“You’re in luck, That’s the situation with a lot of our members, actually. Me and Grantaire and a couple others are all in the actual theatre classes. Uh, same with Courf. Ferre couldn’t fit into his schedule.” He took a deep breath, flipping an imaginary switch in his head and changed from rambling mode to speech mode. Talking to people was easier if he pretended as though he were giving a speech or reading lines from a script. “See, our university isn’t a performing arts school. The theatre class here is more of a technique and technicalities course. We learn how to act and refine our abilities, work on improv, stuff like that, but we rarely, if ever, actually perform for an audience. It’s a class on how to act, not a class on acting. So our group was formed as the university’s official theatre team, and we’ve traveled all around the country performing and representing our school. We’ve been in a couple competitions, and we’ve never placed nearly as highly as the actual performing arts ones, but we’re far better than you’d expect for an extracurricular club.”

Marius blinked. “Don’t get me wrong, that’s super cool, but… can I ask why you’re telling me all this?”

Because Cosette dragged me into this. “Because I think Cosette has something she’d like to ask you, and I’m just giving her a bit of assistance.”

She shot him a surprised look but jumped in smoothly. “We got recognized by some fancy people - honestly I don’t know the specifics, that’s a question for Enjolras and Combeferre - and got an invitation to go perform on Broadway in America. I think there were four other schools selected from France, and around forty from all of Europe. They’re all university-level groups, getting together for an event. Non-professional theatre recognition. Anyway, we’re performing Phantom of the Opera - that new musical - and we’re still recruiting for the trip, and…” She turned bright red suddenly, ducking her head and hiding behind the hair that fell over her face. “And I was wondering if you wanted to join us and come and it would be wonderful to have you come and I really like spending time with you and I think you would like the trip and-”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows as she broke off. Perhaps the story trope of people acting like flustered fools around their crushes wasn’t nearly as exaggerated as he’d always imagined. He wouldn’t know himself - he’d never had time for, or even been interested, in romance. He’d been approached by several girls trying to ask him out on a date in the past, but had turned them all down, though sometimes he’d been a bit harsher than he ought to have been.

“Oh!” Marius sat back in his chair, eyes wide. “When is the trip? This summer?”

Cosette mumbled something.

“Pardon?”

“Next week?” she said, not much louder than the first time, then she repeated herself a third time. “Next week.”  
Marius dragged a hand over his face. “Cosette. I have finals, I have no clue how to act, sign-ups for these sort of things are usually months before the trip. And you’re asking me to come on one next week?

“Yes?” Cosette’s reply came out more as a question than an affirmation.

“I have finals!”

“Enj can talk to your professors, I’m sure he can convince them to let you take them earlier. I’ll help you study.”

“There’s a few extra places,” Enjolras said, stepping back into the conversation. “Not all of our members were able to go, so we have plane tickets and hotel reservations for three more people. You could join the ensemble. We leave next week, but we have another week there before we’re set to perform. We get to watch the other schools put on theirs for the two and a half weeks we’ll be staying. During the day, we run rehearsals and get to explore the city. It’s entirely up to you, of course. Cosette wanted to invite you, but I know it’s really last minute and probably won’t work out.”

Marius rubbed his eyes. “I’d need a day or two to think about it and speak with all my professors, and maybe call my grandfather. He probably couldn’t care less what I do, but it would still be smart to let him know.” He turned to Cosette and reached out, taking her hands. A heartbeat later they both turned bright red, and Enjolras had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

“Still, Cosette, I’d love to come with you, it would be amazing. Are you in the ensemble, too?”

Cosette seemed to glow with pride. “I actually got the female lead. Mainly because Musichetta and I are the only ones that can hit an E6 - it’s a really high note - and she didn’t want it.”

“She loves undervaluing herself,” Ferre said from behind, and they all turned to look at her. “Cosette absolutely aced her audition, and she’s an incredible singer and actress. Don’t listen to her when she says that’s the only reason. I couldn’t see anyone else in the role.”

“Oh- thanks. I’m not sure if you’d call me that good, but still. Thanks, Ferre.”

“Cosette, that’s amazing! I’ve heard you sing before, but that’s incredible!”

The praise coming from Marius seemed to make Cosette glow more than it did from anyone else. She was good about not letting it get to her, though; Enjolras had worked with people in their group who let the praise of their exceptional talents go straight to their head, and such people were often insufferable to work with.

“Is there anything I need to do or look at to learn more about your club before joining?” Marius asked.

“I have some stuff here, if you want to take a look,” Courf said, stepping forward with a handful of paper and pamphlets. “I grabbed them before we left,” he added, shrugging at Enjolras. “Oh, and here-” He pulled a pencil from his pocket and took a scrap of loose paper sitting on the table. Enjolras watched as he scribbled down their cast list and each person’s role, as well as their crew and production team. “If you want to know who all is involved.”

“Also, we’re performing in America,” Enjolras added. “That means the entire thing is in English. Most of us could already speak it fine, but a few had to learn, or at least memorize their lines in it. That makes this performance significantly more difficult.”

“I can speak English fine,” Marius said, switching over to the other language. It carried a heavy French accent, which was hardly surprising, and wouldn’t be much of a problem, as the musical was supposed to be set in France anyway.

“I’ll warn you, it’s harder to sing in English than it is to speak it,” Enjolras replied in the same language.

“I imagine it is.” Marius leaned forward, taking the papers Courf was still holding out, and scanned over them quickly. “This- this all seems really cool, actually. I don’t think I’ll be able to go, since it’s so last minute, but I’ll see what I can do. I hate to change the subject, but, ah-” He gestured at his notes and textbooks. “I have a final in an hour, it’s a really late class, I know, and I’m so sorry, but can I come find you guys tomorrow, or later this evening?”

“Of course.” After a moment of hesitation, Enjolras scribbled down their dorm room address and slid it over to Marius, who shoved it into his bag. “All four of us are in the group, so don’t feel nervous dropping by.”

“Thank you so much for considering it, though!” Cosette said cheerfully, returning the conversation to French. Enjolras could almost feel the excitement rolling off of her. She had such an obvious and massive crush on the boy, but Marius either hadn’t noticed or was trying not to show that he had.

“I actually want to check out a book or two to bring with me on the trip,” Enjolras said, gesturing at the shelves. “You guys go on without me, I’ll meet up with you later.”

Cosette, Courf, and Ferre all said their farewells - quietly, after getting several glares from other people trying to study - and headed out. As soon as the doors closed behind them, Enjolras pulled up a seat next to Marius.

“I feel like you’re about to give me the dad talk or something, about not hurting your daughter.”

“She’s more like a sister, actually.”

“Ah. Still, we’re not even dating. If something happens to her, you’ll murder me?”

Enjolras outright grinned at that. “Nope. If you break her heart, I won’t have to be the one you watch out for.”

“No?”

“She will.”

Marius went pale.

Enjolras let the silence stretch. Only a fool tried to fill a dramatic moment like this, and he was pleased to see that Marius didn’t try to bluster his way through it. That was a good sign. “Cosette told me that you’re a good singer. It’s a musical, and heaven knows that it’s almost impossible to find people who are both good and willing to sing for an audience.”

Marius shrugged. “I don’t think I’m as good as she’d say, but I’m passionate? Even if I sound bad, I guess I’m confident in my inability to sing.”

Enjolras laughed at that, though it faded quickly. “Look, I used to be like that. None of the skill and all of the enthusiasm. One of the disadvantages to being a self-taught singer, I guess, though while skill can be gained and technique can be taught, it’s far more difficult to gain a passion for singing. Lessons are way more helpful than a lot of people seem to think. A week of them and I assure you, your skills will skyrocket. And we have a week, so…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to continue. “Look, this would mean a lot to Cosette. Please don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not trying to guilt you into coming, and I don’t want you to think that. She’s really passionate about this trip and about our group, and even though this is the first time I’ve met you, I can already see why you two are such good friends. She wants to share that with you and wants you to be able to enjoy the trip.”

“I’d love to go, of course I would. But how would it work on such short notice? I don’t even know if my passport is still valid.”

“We’ve gotten special papers for this trip. You’d just have to give your information to our class advisor - that would be Valjean, he teaches history - and he’ll submit your request along with the others. No need to worry about passports. And-” he tapped the piece of paper with his room address “-if you want to stop by at some point, we can run a brief audition. It’s nothing fancy and at this point, it doesn’t matter how well you do, not like it would if you’d joined at the beginning, but it would probably be helpful.”

“Thanks, Enjolras. Really. I’m guessing you don’t give many people last minute invites?”

“Nope. Look, no offense, but I was only doing this for Cosette. She really wants you to come on the trip, and if she wants you, I want you too.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

Enjolras stood and pushed his chair back in. “Believe me, it’s a compliment.” An oddly phrased compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. “I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely. Thanks!”

He turned and headed off into the fiction section of the library. He wasn’t a huge reader anymore, not like he had been back in grade school, but it would still be nice to take a break from all of the law books and autobiographies and research papers he’d been drowning in recently.

The lights back here were dim and flickering. They always were- almost everyone spent all their time in the nonfiction section, and all of these poor books never got as much attention in college as they would back in middle or high. No one bothered to try to get the lights back here fixed, because they just weren’t needed. Maybe he’d go talk to the main office, or see if he could put in a work order of some sort to try to get them repaired, or at least replace the burnt-out lightbulbs. Though in a school like this, even if they did take him seriously, it would be months before anything could be done about it. Enjolras stopped halfway down a row, studying them. Perhaps he could go out and buy a pack of new bulbs himself and recruit Grantaire and Eponine to help him climb up one of the shelves to replace them himself after the library closed. Eponine could pick the locks- she’d done so on multiple occasions when people had forgotten their things inside and had to get in at ridiculous hours of the morning. Enjolras never understood why the locked the library at night. Students studied at the oddest hours, and they could always just fill out one of the paper slips used to check out books not in the system, and leave them for one of the librarians to add to their account when they arrived in the morning.

He took two that sounded vaguely interesting from the first few pages and checked them out before heading back to his room.

Courf was lying on the floor in the main room, papers and notebooks spread out around him. He glanced up as Enjolras walked in, hitting a button on the cassette player next to him and dropping his headphones down around his neck. “Any luck? Does Cosette get a date?”

“We’ll see. I’m giving him an impromptu audition here later. You and Ferre can sit in on it, if you’d like.”

“Oh, sure. Ferre’s actually out grabbing takeout dinner for us, I hope you don’t mind. Neither of us wanted to deal with the chaos of the mess hall tonight.”

“Fine by me. I wasn’t planning on having anything, but since you guys are getting stuff. I’ll take half the cost, since he’s been the one to get stuff the past couple of times.”

“Sure. Do you-” Enjolras was cut off as Bahorel leaned into the main room. Enjolras gave his roommate a cheerful wave. “Hey! How’d your classes go? You were worried about that chem final, how was that?”

“It went better than I expected it to. I won’t know the results for a while though. Anyway, what’s this I hear about Cosette’s date?” he asked, walking over and taking a seat on the floor next to Courf.

“That boy from her writing class, the one she’ll talk about with anyone who cares to listen and some of those that won’t.”

“Marius, right?”

“That’s the one. Apparently he can sing, and she wants us to bring him on as a last minute addition to the ensemble.”

Bahorel gave a low whistle. “Damn. And I thought you were bad about leaving stuff to the last minute.”

Courf balled up a sheet of paper covered with his notes and tossed it at Bahorel. “You’re not qualified to talk. Remember that time you managed to do a month’s work of calc assignments in four hours?”

“That was one time, and I got them all in on time.”

“Barely.”

“Barely,” Bahorel conceded with a nod. “But I still got them in. I can’t say I can expect the same thing of recruiting a new person when the trip is a week away. We’ve been rehearsing together for months. Are you sure a new member wouldn’t throw off the dynamic completely?”

Enjolras had already considered that on the walk back from the library. “That’s definitely we have to think about. To really know, we’d just have to run a rehearsal and assign someone to him to show him the ropes as we go. We just don’t have the time to go through and teach him each individual part, and at this point, he’d likely learn better if we threw him straight into the pool and see where he can swim and where he sinks, then isolate those specific spots where he needs our help to keep from drowning.”

“I’m guessing that the other person would need to be one of the ensemble members?”

“That would be best, since they’d know the choreography better.”

Bahorel looked mildly disappointed by that. He was playing one of the two theatre managers within the play, alongside Feuilly. It was one of the major roles, and Enjolras couldn’t spare him to help teach Marius during a rehearsal. “Pity. It could be fun to get to know him that way.”

“You’ll get to know him anyway. He should be dropping by tonight for a quick audition-type thing. I just want to get a feel for his skill. We still don’t know if he can really sing, and I don’t want to get too far ahead of ourselves trying to plan something, and then being disappointed if it doesn’t work out.”

“Any clue what time that might be?”

“Nope. He said he has one more late class final to take today - late-night classes are infinitely better than early morning ones, though I don’t get why anyone would want to sign up for either - so he’ll be here whenever he finishes and recovers from that.”

At that moment, the door opened and Combeferre entered, carrying several styrofoam take-out boxes. “Food,” he announced, as though it wasn’t obvious, and shoved all the clutter on their table aside to make room for them. “Hey, Enj. I hope you don’t mind Chinese. If you do mind, blame it on Rel. He chose it.”

“And I stand by my choice.” Bahorel stood and stretched, then crossed the room to the table and pulled several plates from the drying rack by the sink. Enjolras had done dishes the night before and hadn’t yet gotten around to returning everything to its proper place.

“A fancy treat indeed,” Enjolras said, taking the plate Bahorel offered. “We don’t usually get Chinese.”

“Consider it a reward for all the work you’ve been putting into our group and making the trip possible. There’s ice cream in the fridge for later.”

“Ice cream is only a reward if the ice cream is that fancy chocolate chunk stuff.” He opened one of the containers and began scooping noodles and spicy chicken onto his plate with a fork. None of their silverware or plates matched, all of it coming from the dinnerware bin in a thrift store when they were trying to cut down on costs of school supplies. Enjolras’s current plate had bright floral patterns and was chipped in several places around the edge.  
He stepped away to pour a glass of water as the other three crowded around to get their own food, then took a seat on the worn couch, careful not to step on any of Courf’s notes that were still carpeting the floor.

Bahorel took the seat next to him and began telling the others about some funny incident that had happened in one of his classes - something involving accidental fire and a parakeet? Enjolras tried to listen but the words seemed to slip in one ear and out the other, try as he might to capture them. Worries and anxieties that he couldn’t quite put words to swirled through his head, the nameless panic that always comes with approaching deadlines. Logically, he knew he’d covered everything that needed to be done save for the business with Marius, but emotionally, everything in him was trying to have yet another mental breakdown over the trip.

The last time it had happened, he’d come close to overdosing on his aspirin and his anxiety meds while he was trying to get everything completely scheduled and worked out for the trip. He’d spend a good two hours leaning over the toilet retching after he’d made himself sick with worry. He was constantly close to breaking down when he had to carry all the responsibility of big events like this, but he couldn’t handle passing the responsibility over to someone else either. That last time, Ferre had confined him to his room, taken away all of his school supplies, and told him to spend a few days sleeping or binging television shows, and to not worry about anything. Later, Ferre had told him that all of his teachers agreed to excuse him from any assignments he missed, and several of them had passed on ‘hope you feel better’ messages.

He’d still felt awful missing his classes and ended up turning in most of the work anyway, but Ferre had been right. It was good to take a few days off to try to preserve the scraps of decent mental health he still had left. The only good part - though it sickened Enjolras to call it good - was that he only had to deal with stress and anxiety and everything that went along with that. He wasn’t suffering the same way Grantaire was, fighting invisible demons and darkness. If he ended up in the same situation by pushing himself too far, he doubted there would be much he could do to help his best friend then.

After a moment, he realized that the room had fallen silent and they were all watching him.

“Enj? You okay?” Courf asked.

He shook himself and set his still-full plate aside. “Just thinking about the trip and all the stuff I’ve had to do for it. I’m fine.”

Courf looked satisfied with that answer. He was the only one on the floor, sitting right in front of Ferre and leaning back against his legs. “I asked if you’ve ever been singled out by that one history prof. I swear, that teacher is like a shark or something, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting students. The last time she caught me and dragged me off to help her with some project, I was stuck punching out letters for a bulletin board for hours.”

“She’s not bad, she just has an unfortunate habit of grabbing the first person she sees so that she can send them off to do something, she doesn’t ask if they’d like to help or not.”

“Mmh. ‘Not bad’, you say that again after she’s gotten her claws into you.”

“If you say so.” Enjolras turned back to his plate and began picking at the food, only eating a few small pieces. He began paying more attention to the conversation from there on, jumping in from time to time with his own comments.

Once they’d all finished eating, Bahorel gathered plates and silverware and brought everything over to the sink. As he was working, a light knock came at the door. It was so soft that Enjolras thought he imagined it at first until it came again, much firmer.

Combeferre stood, earning himself a sour look from Courfeyrac as he slipped back against the couch, and answered it. Marius stood in the hallway beyond, looking sheepish.

“Oh, hi. I thought I might have had the wrong room?”

“Nope, you’re right on time. Come on in.” Ferre gestured to the room and stepped aside to let Maruis pass, then closed the door behind him.

Enjolras stood himself and pulled the door to his and Bahorel’s room closed as casually as he could, then did the same to Courf and Ferre’s.

“Good, you’re here,” he said. “How are you?”

“Pretty good. You?”

“Fine. You already met Courfeyrac and Combeferre earlier. This is Bahorel, he’s my other roommate. Bahorel, this is Marius.”

“Pleasure,” Bahorel said cooly, giving a stiff nod, and held out a hand. Marius gave it a firm shake, looking slightly taken aback by the cold welcome.

“I have some of the ensemble music here, if you want to look through it?” Enjolras held up a worn envelope containing the original copies of the sheet music and shooting Bahorel a warning glance.

Marius took the envelope and slid the music out. “My god, opera is a nightmare,” he muttered, though he hardly seemed to mean it from the way his eyes lit up. Enjolras was pleased to see him humming through the notes under his breath as he read through it. Several times, though, Marius’s eyes flicked nervously to something behind Enjolras before returning to the music. The fourth time it happened, Enjolras turned to see Bahorel standing in the corner behind them, arms crossed. His roommate was over six feet tall and massively built, and looked like he could crush someone’s skull in his hands. He’d taken to wearing a short beard recently, which didn’t exactly serve to make him look less threatening.

“Hey. Rel,” Enjolras said, turning to his roommate. “Ease off a bit? Poor Marius here looks as though he thinks you’re about to eat him.”

Marius glanced up from the music again. “No, it’s fine-”

Bahorel made a sound in between a snort and a laugh, then turned and disappeared into their room, closing the door again behind him.

“What was that about?” Marius asked after a moment.

“Bahorel is… wary about taking on a new person this close to the trip. It’s nothing personal and you’ve done nothing wrong, but he worries that it might throw off the group dynamic.”

“I’m sorry,” Marius said quietly. “I don’t mean to do that, and if it’s going to be a trouble…” He trailed off. “But I want to do this, Enjolras. I do.”

Enjolras was momentarily taken aback by the cool steel in Marius’s voice, and realized in a flash why Cosette was so drawn to him. He’d been foolish to dismiss Marius as the nervous, stammering boy in the library. He certainly didn’t have the same fiery passion or quick wit like most of the other theatre students in their group, but he was more intriguing than Enjolras had originally thought.

“I can see you do,” he said. “Do you have any pieces you like singing, or is there one here you’d like to go through as an audition piece?”

Marius pulled a sheet from the bottom of the stack- Enjolras’s own heavily annotated copy of his solo from the musical, covered in as much pencil as ink - and held it up.

“So that’s where it went,” Combeferre said, coming over to stand next Enjolras. “I was trying to find all of the original copies for each part, but I never thought to look with the ensemble pieces.”

“You lost something?” Courf’s voice was filled with exaggerated shock. “Ferre, what’s happening to you? You never forget anything!”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You can put it with the others later,” Enjolras broke in. “Marius, you can go ahead and warm up and all. Courf and I can join you, if you want. He’s ensemble as well.”

“I did on the way over, actually.” All of Marius’s self-consciousness seemed to melt away and he sat up a bit straighter as he sang a quick scale of notes. His voice was soft but not weak, and had the right sort of tone that could swell with power if a piece called for it. Enjolras couldn’t quite describe it, but he’d listened to enough audition pieces and taught enough people to sing that he knew what to listen for. Marius’s voice was rough and untrained, but the ability was there and could sound wonderful if he would be taught how to use it. Marius moved on to a quick arpeggio, then a different scale a half octave lower.

Enjolras recognized some of the warmups they usually did in group rehearsal, and joined in as they worked through the scales- lots and lots of scales. “Cosette’s been showing you some of our things?” he asked when they’d finished.

“She has. I didn’t realize this was why, though.”

“It’s good. Do you want me to sing through the piece first or are you able to sight-read it?”

“Oh god, I hate sight-reading. It might help if you sang through it first.”

“Of course.” Enjolras took up his glass from where it still sat on the table beside him and took a long drink, and stood. It helped him to focus on the music and not on the people watching him if he wandered around as he sang, so he did. It helped him to feel as though every eye wasn’t trained on him, even though they were. Even Bahorel came back out to lean in the doorway to listen as he sang.

When the last notes faded, there was a quick round of applause from them, and Enjolras turned away to hide his face as he flushed. Social anxiety made for an odd companion in someone who loved performing and speaking in front of audiences. While he was up there, he could pretend he was in his own world. He could fully become the character he was playing, and the audience ceased to exist for him. The hard part was coming back to reality once he was done and having to put up with the cheering and the compliments.

Marius didn’t clap, staring wide-eyed at Enjolras.

“What?” he asked, running his hands over his face and glancing at his reflection in the mirror on Courf and Ferre’s bedroom door.

“That was incredible,” he breathed. “Absolutely amazing. Angel of music indeed!”

He shrugged. “I’ve done it better in rehearsal. It’s no big deal. “

“No, it is, you’re amazing. It would be wonderful to get to work with you, I- I just feel suddenly terrified of trying to sing that and compare it to what you just did.”

“Confidence. Don’t get intimidated and think you can’t do it, or you won’t be able to. Take the mindset of that’s incredible and I want to sing like that, not the idea of that’s incredible and I’ll never be able to sound like that. You’ll get there someday.”

Marius didn’t look entirely convinced by that, but he shifted in his seat and shuffled the sheet music so that his piece sat on top. Enjolras gave him what he hoped was a reassuring nod, and Marius seemed to relax a bit at that. After a second of hesitation, he began to sing. His voice was quiet and cracked several times before he finally fell into the rhythm of the song and found his confidence, but once he did, he was wonderful. All arrogance and self-confidence aside, Enjolras knew that he was better than Marius, but it was a matter of his years and years of practice and performing in musicals and plays. If Marius were to get formal training, he could someday become incredible.

The second Marius finished the song, all of his former awkward embarrassment seemed to return. “Yeah, uh- there we go. I’m not good at sight-reading, so-”

“No, that was actually really good,” Courf said, grinning. “Obviously, the final decision goes to Enjolras, but I’d definitely take you on myself. You’d have a shit ton of work ahead of you to get ready for the performance and it’s going to suck and you’re going to hate it all, but it’ll be the best time of your life, I promise.”

“It’s the best feeling in the world,” Enjolras said quietly. “Standing in the theater and walking through those doors onto the stage. Rehearsals and choreo that leave you utterly drained and sore to the bone, and you’re yearning to do it all over again the next day. Songs that leave you and the audience in tears. Living out of your dressing room for the week that you're doing performances every night. Being the lead, singing in the ensemble, waiting in the dressing room as understudy for a call that might never come. Anything. Everything. Just being a part of it, of something bigger than yourself, of something wonderful. It's beautiful, Marius."

He clapped a hand on Marius's shoulder. "It's going to be tough, I won't lie. You're going to have to learn in a week what everyone else has spent months on. But in the end, it'll be worth it, I promise. I'll get started on your papers tonight."

"You have homework," Ferre cut in, "that you've been avoiding for the past several days. I can handle his paperwork and get him registered. You go work on that."

Enjolras hesitated. Ferre was one of the very- very- people he'd trust to relinquish responsibility to. It wasn't that he didn't think his friends could to the tasks in question, but that he couldn't bear to let them take the work. He couldn't exactly explain it, but he preferred to take all the tasks on himself and try to do it on his own. Like Ferre himself had said earlier, Enjolras did try to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, but occasionally, he could let someone else take care of something. After a moment, Enjolras gave Combeferre a stiff nod. "Sure. Thank you."

He turned to Marius. "This was... odd, to say the least. This is absolutely nothing like what our usual auditions are like. I've never done them this way before, so count yourself lucky. You got a damn easy audition compared to usual, but the next week is going to be insane. Rehearsal will be tomorrow at four in the General Lamarque Memorial Auditorium, on the west side of campus. Out by Philippe Hall. We're going to have the orchestra with us then, which will be much nicer than trying to blast it through speakers like we've been doing recently."

"Can I write that down real quick?" Marius asked. "Cosette says I'd forget my own head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders."

Courf made a half-laugh, half-cough sound, trying to cover over. "Yeah. Sure, here." He scribbled down the details on a loose sheet of notebook paper and handed it to Enjolras, who folded it and passed it over to Marius.

"Thanks. I'll be there early, if that's okay, to try to figure out stuff before everyone shows up?"

"Combeferre, Prouvaire, and I are usually there way before everyone else either." At Marius's questioning look, Enjolras clarified further. "Prouvaire - Jehan - is our stage manager. He's a bit shy but I think he'll like you. The three of us are the management team."

Combeferre leaned over and gathered up all of the sheet music and slid it back into the envelope, save for Enjolras's copy of his solo, and handed it over to Marius. "You might want to take this and study it a bit tonight so that you're not totally lost in rehearsal tomorrow. "

Marius added the name to the paper and slid it into the envelope, then put it all into the backpack he had left by the door. "I'll go and give Cosette the good news, I suppose?"

"She'll be delighted. She came in here earlier and bugged me until I agreed to see what you could do and offer you the opportunity to come."

"I'll be sure to thank her for that."

Enjolras held out a hand. After a moment, Marius shook it, his grip firm. "Welcome to the wonderful hell that is musical theatre, my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question for y'all - would you rather have the next chapter written from the perspective of Courfeyrac or Combeferre?
> 
> If anyone is interested in being a beta for this (and any other Les Mis fics I end up writing) shoot me a dm on tumblr @orestes_hungry_and_pylades_sober


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